Summer Is Late, My Heart

Touch Me
By Stanley Kunitz

Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the window
panes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married?
Touch me, remind me who I am.

Comments

J.Valentine said…
I became engrossed in this poem and now I want to read more by Kunitz. I have added him to my "must read" list of poets. Thank you for sharing it.
kelly rae said…
hey look, my sis commented here! ama, so glad you are back on this, now stay for a bit!
Anonymous said…
I heard Kunitz read this when he was 95 in ALbany, NY. It is part of my sister's wedding toast this Saturday Jan 20.

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